An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide (32 page)

“You're wrong.” It was the jaded, world-weary tone again. “I forgave Dan long ago.”

I blinked. So in the end it was this simple?

“Hale confessed?”

“No. He never did. We never spoke of it after the night I accused him and walked out.”

She gave another of those heavy sighs. I had the brains not to interrupt.

“That was a terrible night. The worst night of my life. I didn't see Dan again for nearly twenty years. By the time we met again…neither of us had any desire to dig up those memories.

What was the point? We had both moved on. Nothing could bring Jay back.”

“If Hale never confessed, why were you so sure he was guilty?”

“There was no other possibility. I knew Jay hadn't skipped town.”

“What about Guilliam Truffaut?”

Another of those ringing silences. She said as precisely and carefully as though she were picking the letters out of alphabet soup, “How do you know about Guilliam Truffaut?”

“I spoke to Harry Newman.”

“Who?”

“Harry Newman. The PI Louise Reynard hired after Jay disappeared.”

“I…I'd forgotten. How strange. Yes, Louise did hire a private investigator. She was desperate to find Jay. She believed from the very first that something terrible had happened to him.” Jinx's laugh broke off sharply. “Then you know everything.”

“Not really. I'm not sure why you were so convinced Hale was guilty. I'd have put my money on Guilliam Truffaut. The guy who stole the cross in the first place. Did you know he was suspected of murdering his first wife?”

“
W-what
?”

“That's according to one of his biggest fans. Not a nice man, by all accounts.”

Jinx seemed to think this over. “Jay did say we needed to be careful. That we might have bitten off more than we could chew that time.”

“The way it sounds, Truffaut was a traitor to the Resistance, maybe even a Nazi collaborator. And if even half of his war experiences are true, he had the necessary skills, ruthlessness, and resources to commit murder and hide the body of your brother. Plus, he had the strongest motivation of anyone I've come across yet. If word got out about his having the Cross of Rouen in his possession, he'd have been facing a lot worse than a prison stretch for theft.”

The line was live, although she wasn't speaking.

162

Josh Lanyon

“Why did you think Hale killed your brother?”

“Because he threatened to.”

“Hale threatened to kill Jay?”

“Yes. And he went to his hotel that night. I know because Paulie—Paulie St. Cyr—saw him arrive as he was leaving.”

“Why was Paulie St. Cyr there?”

“He was picking up musical score sheets. He didn't speak to Danny, though he did see him go up.”

“But that's pretty circumstantial. Why did Hale threaten to kill Jay?”

“Because of that goddamned cross. Jay wanted to turn the cross over to Louise. She was practically insisting on it. Her grandmother died in a concentration camp, and her grandfather had also fought in the French Resistance. In fact, her grandfather was a great friend of Truffaut's.”

“He knew Truffaut?”

“Not in the Resistance. At least, I don't think so. They met here. And naturally they became close. Louise wanted to give the cross to her grandfather to return to the French people.

She wanted to unmask Truffaut. Reveal him for the traitor that he was.”

I was getting lost. “Wait. How did Hale know about any of this? Was he involved in the burglaries too?”

“Yes. Danny was our silent partner. He set up the jobs, and he arranged for a fence to move the stuff we stole. Once we hooked up with Danny, we did very well. Much better than we'd ever done on our own. Then Jay fell for Louise, practically overnight, and somehow she convinced him of this crazy idea she had about turning the cross over and going straight. And Danny was furious.
Of course
. It was the biggest haul we'd had and he desperately needed the money to keep the club afloat. He couldn't believe Jay was considering handing over the cross—

let alone giving up our burglary sideline. They argued and argued over it.”

“If Hale killed Jay, what happened to the cross? He'd have sold it, right?”

“Yes. If the cross was where he could get at it.”

“But the cross
would
have been there, because Jay was taking it to Louise that night.

Where else would it be?”

“I don't know. It wasn't found in his room at the hotel obviously. I had to accept that Danny had followed through on his threat.”

“I don't think Hale killed your brother. I think he told you the truth. I think he went to the hotel that night to have one last shot at talking Jay out of giving up the cross.”

“So who…?”

“I think Guilliam Truffaut killed Jay and retrieved the cross. I think that's why the cross never surfaced again. Guilliam was the one person who would know better than anyone why that cross couldn't be sold to anyone.”

I could hear her breathing; it sounded like she was trying not to cry. I didn't blame her. If she had loved Hale as much as I thought she had, it would be pretty hard to face knowing she had ended their relationship for nothing.

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163

Not that Hale had been any prize—and she'd done all right for herself with the senator—

but in blaming him for her brother's death, she'd wronged him. Badly. Betrayed him.

Why? Why had she been so quick to believe the worst of him?

“You were at the Huntsman's Lodge that night,” I said. “Was there construction going on?”

“There was always construction going on. The place was falling down around their ears. I remember one thing. They were putting poison out for rats. You could smell the dead rats in the attic.”

I guessed that explained why no one had paid attention to the smell on the third floor. It sure explained why Jinx was living with Dan Hale and not her brother.

I said, trying to work it out for myself, “The thing I still don't understand is, you loved Hale. I don't know why you wouldn't trust him when he told you he didn't—”

“You've never been afraid,” she said harshly. “You're like my own kids. You've been protected and pampered all your life, and you don't know what fear is. Not real fear. Not gut-wrenching, piss-your-pants, do
anything
… You know what it is? It's a dark tide sweeping in and pulling you out into the deep. Way out. And you go with it even when you know you should fight, even when you know the end will be your destruction, because you're too afraid not to.

You'll trade your soul for one day, one hour, one minute more of safety. It's why people do the things they do—that dark tide dragging them along like an undertow.”

She was still talking. I didn't hear the rest of it. I was thinking about the war, and how people closed their eyes to the terrible things around them, did terrible things themselves—

Guilliam Truffaut was perhaps that kind of villain. Or perhaps another kind. And I thought of Paul Kane and of the dark, remorseless tide that had nearly taken me and Jake on the
Pirate's
Gambit
only a few weeks earlier.

I thought how Jake had swum in that dark tide for most of his life, and yet somehow kept from going under.

And I thought how naively, a few seconds earlier, I had said to her, “
You loved him. I don't
know why you wouldn't trust him
.”

I put the phone down softly.

* * * * *

I parked on the opposite side of the shady street. It was a nice house, well tended and in good repair. There was a FOR SALE sign planted squarely in the tidy lawn.

Parked in the driveway was a small blue pickup truck. The bed was loaded with cardboard boxes, potted plants, and a couple of framed pictures.

I went up the brick walk, and the screen door banged open. A tall, slender woman with red hair and green eyes walked out holding a cardboard box.

I moved back, and she gave me a long, measuring look. I think I'd have known her for a cop even if I hadn't realized who she was.

“Hi. I was looking for Jake.”

She continued to assess me; she called over her shoulder, “Jake. It's for you.”

She moved past me down the brick walk and disappeared around the corner of the house.

164

Josh Lanyon

From where I stood, I could see through to the dismantled dining room and the glass door—open—leading onto the brick patio, where Jake was sliding open the screen. He walked through the dining room. I saw by the way his shoulders stiffened that he'd recognized me before he reached the entranceway.

I said, “I don't have to ask if it's a bad time. I should have called.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

I need to talk to you…

“The phone still works as far as I know.” He shoved the door screen open, and I stepped inside. “Out back will be better.” He turned to lead the way.

I followed him out into the tidy square of the backyard. A hose lay glistening in the grass like an emerald snake spilling water sluggishly into the yellow roses lining the wooden fence.

“I was going to call you,” Jake said. “You'd better sit down.”

I didn't like the expression on his face. I sat down on the nearest wooden patio chair.

A sleek German shepherd puppy came gamboling from around the side of the house, a blue rubber ball in its mouth. He had a reddish black coat and one tipped ear. He trotted right up the brick steps and dropped the ball on my feet, gazing at me expectantly.

“Hey, where did you come from?” I stroked his head, looking up at Jake. “Is this the puppy from Nick Argyle's ranch?”

He nodded.

“I didn't realize you'd gone up to Ojai again.”

“I've been there a couple of times talking to Argyle.”

“You like that old copper.” I tugged gently on the pup's silky ears. “You didn't say anything about buying this little guy.”

“Yeah, well. I thought I'd get him trained and give him to you for your birthday.”

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't keep a dog. Where the hell would I put him? This was going to be a big dog. The oversize paws on my knees told the story. And yet, as I gazed into those shiny-button, laughing eyes, I felt myself smiling back.

“And if I'm wrong and you don't want him, I'll hang on to him.” A reluctant smile tugged Jake's mouth. “He grows on you.”

I picked up the puppy—ouch, fat little bastard—and leaned back in the chair. He proceeded to frantically lick my chin. I lifted my head out of reach. “All the way over here, I was trying to think what to say. It turns out I have the worst timing in the world. Maybe you should tell me your news first.”

The screen door slid open behind us. Jake turned as Kate said, “I guess that's everything.”

They were both calm and controlled, but it was obvious how much in pain they were, and I realized exactly how bad my timing was.

She was staring at me, and Jake said quietly, “Kate, this is Adrien.”

“Adrien. Well.” Her tone was flat. “We meet at last.”

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165

I nodded, putting the puppy down and belatedly rising. I didn't know what to do or say.

Not something covered in any etiquette book I'd read. Why the hell hadn't I thought of this?

What was I doing intruding here?

“I'll walk out front with you,” Jake said to Kate. He gave me an indecipherable look, and they went inside.

The puppy picked up the blue ball and dropped it on my foot in reminder. I picked it up, forgot, and threw. For a racked instant I thought I'd snapped the wires holding my sternum together. The puppy tore off down the yard barking like a demented a squeak-toy.

After what seemed like a very long time, Jake came back. He walked to the edge of the patio and stared out at nothing.

I said, “I should have called first.”

“You said that.”

He continued to stare out unseeingly at the clipped and trimmed yard and the puppy galloping up and down the grass, the ball in its mouth.

“I'm sorry, Jake.”

He didn't seem to hear.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Probably not, since I didn't currently exist.

The puppy dropped the ball on the bricks and looked up hopefully. Jake bent automatically, snatched up the ball, and threw it. Hard. It slammed into the wooden fence with a force that sounded like it cracked the board.

I rose, went inside the house, rummaged around until I found the bottle of Wild Turkey.

There was a shelf half full of clean glasses in the cupboard. I poured a stiff drink and brought it out to the patio.

He looked at the glass, looked at me. His brows rose. He took the glass and tossed back the bourbon.

“Another?”

His grin was crooked. “Thanks. No. I don't think drinking tonight would be a good idea.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Yeah.”

I nodded, turned away. As I reached the screen door, he said, “Adrien, no. Don't go.”

I came back and leaned against one of the wrought-iron posts propping up the metal patio roof.

He threw the ball to the puppy a few times more. “You know what I thought the first time I saw you?”

“No.”

“Point of no return.”

“Huh?”

“I
knew
. I knew from the second I laid eyes on you, everything was going to change.”

I'd had a similar feeling. Granted, I'd expected the change to have something to do with a lengthy prison sentence.

166

Josh Lanyon

“I don't even know what it is about you. Why I couldn't forget you. I tried. Believe me.